


Untitled

by avellere



Category: the GazettE
Genre: Drabble, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2013-01-26
Packaged: 2017-12-28 20:01:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/995965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avellere/pseuds/avellere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which words aren't spoken, but the message still gets across.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled

Aoi’s hands are cold — he can feel Reita shiver as he slides them under his shirt, can feel goosebumps pricking his palms and tremors running through his skin. He wants to apologize and lean closer, maybe breathe in the scent of sandalwood and cologne that reminds him of home. But he doesn’t. Instead, he lets his fingers explore the places that are too dark to see, creates a map to memorize when they’re done.

Reita tries to do the same. His touch is light and fluttery, and Aoi smiles. Who knew a man capable of tossing his bass and jumping off railings can be nervous about this? His fingers are gentle, though, so he stays as still as he can, humming when they ghost across his ribs or patter over his hips. Reita watches him closely, his dark eyes fixed on the faint curl of his mouth. It’s always there, even when his form flickers in and out of sight, as sharp and bright as a Cheshire cat’s.

They usually aren’t like this. Most nights, Aoi doesn’t think twice about grabbing him and smashing their lips together, biting and scratching and falling into oblivion. He leaves bruises on his neck and buries his hands into his hair to ease the ache in his bones. A snarl is etched on his lips, burning into Reita’s corneas long after he shuts his eyes. In the morning he steps over the broken pieces of the lamp on the carpet, leaves the keys on the kitchen table, and shuts the door behind him.

But tonight, Aoi is tired of bare sheets and empty apartments. He doesn’t complain when Reita throws an arm across his chest to keep him in bed, presses cold toes to his ankles and sighs. He doesn’t ask questions about what this is or who they are, either. Aoi doesn’t talk about that — Talk after sex is awkward, especially if it’s with Reita. The other man doesn’t say much to begin with, and the last thing he wants is to blurt out a declaration of love that he’ll regret tomorrow.

Reita’s snores break the quiet lull of 4 A.M. as his chest rises and falls. Aoi doesn’t close his eyes, though. He stares at the ceiling and wonders. It’s not a relationship, but as far as bandmates-turned-into-something-more goes, it’s close.

(He doesn’t pretend otherwise.)


End file.
